6 Ways to Judge Him by His Lit-Bro Idol

Finally! A way to make overanalyzing dudes actually fun.

If you're going to stereotype a guy, you might as well do it creatively and with a highbrow air about you, amirite? Below, half a dozen ways to analyze a member of the opposite sex by his literary god alone:

The Icon: Jonathan Franzen

The Superfan: He can talk for days about how Twitter is a chasm of ignorance that will eventually drag all mankind down with it. Eventually you stop Instagramming brunch in front of him, or arguing with anything he says, ever, and meekly fold in on yourself until you're small and miserable enough to fit in the pocket of his studiously unhip tweed suit.

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What to Do With Him: Shout an Internet phrase like YOLO or FOMO into his face and he'll explode into dust like a vampire.

Jonathan Safran-Foer

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The Icon: Jonathan Safran-Foer

The Superfan: He writes grocery lists on an incredibly rare vintage typewriter he (i.e. his parents) purchased for the price of one semester of in-state college tuition. His glasses are from Moscot.

What To Do With Him: Bring him to a local bodega and watch him stare in childlike awe at the non-organic, non-farm-to-table, non-locally sourced food.

David Foster Wallace

The Icon: David Foster Wallace

The Superfan: He conveniently reserves reading Infinite Jest for when he's riding public transportation.

What To Do With Him: After he says "discourse" three times in one sentence, wait until he goes to the bathroom, then take a glue gun from your purse and quietly lay some hot glue on his bar stool.

The Icon: Philip Roth

The Superfan: He's horny, needy, and wishy-washy. He has a conveniently black-and-white way of seeing the world, women in particular.

What To Do With Him: Don't be the wife or the mistress.

John Updike

The Icon: John Updike

The Icon: Jack Kerouac

The Superfan: He hangs out in dive bars, sipping on a Mason jar of Macallan 18, hoping a woman will come up to him and ask him "Whatcha writing?" or "You look like a man with demons —wanna elucidate at me about it until my ears bleed?" His demons are that he's lazy enough to think drinking Scotch alone in a bar is a personality trait. He is quietly despised by bartenders and waitresses.

What To Do With Him: Find his dumb collection of drunken scribbles in that moronic empty cigar box he stashes them in like they're precious gems and cram them down his stupid throat.